


Pity Party

by crystalkei



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5837626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalkei/pseuds/crystalkei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For that "I fucked up" thing with the cheesecake. What if it was Bellamy getting really drunk and eating Octavia's cheesecake and Clarke takes his phone away but Octavia texts back "Did you finally confess your love to Clarke?" and Clarke sees the message...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pity Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feminist14er](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feminist14er/gifts).



> thanks to ottersandotherstuff for the prompt and the suggestion that i should give this to feminist14er for her birthday!

 

“You started without me!” Clarke dropped her purse onto the couch next to Bellamy who was mostly asleep with his hand propping up his chin.

 

There was a bottle of empty vodka on the coffee table and Animal Planet was on, a special about cheetahs droned about top speeds in the background. Bellamy startled awake and gave her a goofy smile.

 

“I warned you when I texted you at lunch that it was a really bad day,” he said, stumbling over every other syllable.

 

“Mine was bad, too! We were supposed to get smashed together, not me taking care of you,” Clarke whined.

 

“There's a bottle for you in the freezer and there's Indian food coming. Nobody needs to take care of anyone because we are safely ensconced in my apartment,” Bellamy explained, his arms flung wide as if to show her how safe they were, but he almost knocked over the lamp on the end table.

 

Clarke caught the lamp and rolled her eyes. She set it upright and looked at Bellamy fondly, he was cringing at his mistake. His nose was scrunched up and his eyes were too making his face overall adorable instead of its normal too fucking hot to stare directly at for long periods of time.

 

But they were friends. She wasn't gonna make a fool of herself thinking they were anything more. The adorable scrunched face was so cute though that she realized she'd definitely stared too long so she looked back to the end table.

 

“Shit!” Clarke panicked when she looked just to the left of the lamp.

 

On the end table, next to the lamp was the fancy cake stand with the ribbon around the base that Octavia used for her cake competitions. There should have been a beautiful cherry cheesecake on that stand. Instead, there were crumbs and a couple of blobs of cherry topping.

 

Bellamy slunk down on the couch and closed his eyes like he could disappear.

 

“I know, I already texted Octavia and told her I fucked up,” he spit out quickly.

 

“We have to fix this!” Clarke looked at Bellamy and noticed a bit of cheesecake she hadn't seen until now on the corner of his mouth. “You're a mess.”

 

She reached out to hold his chin and wipe the cheesecake off. He pulled back out of her reach, swatting at her hand, and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

“I'll buy her another one first thing in the morning,” he said.

 

“She can't enter a store bought cheesecake into a competition, also she'll know that's not the one she made,” Clarke argued.

 

“I said I already texted her. Maybe she's making an extra right now?” Bellamy looked at her hopefully.

 

“Isn't she at her sleep study? I don't think she's making a replacement right now.”

 

“I'll tell her she should do that!” Bellamy pulled out his phone and fumbled with it for a minute trying to send off a text. He held it very close to his face as though he couldn't read the screen.

 

Clarke took the phone out of his hands.

 

“Hey! I was using that,” Bellamy complained.

 

Clarke shook her head. “You know, I had a bad day, too,” she said. “When you said ‘let's get drunk and eat Indian food tonight,’ I never thought I'd be cleaning up your mess! I thought we’d be watching _Golden Girls_ eating tikka masala.”

 

She stomped her foot and immediately felt silly for it. Bellamy’s face turned softer.

 

“I'm sorry, this is unfair to you.”

 

He stood up and went into the kitchen. He chugged a whole bottle of water before pulling out a shot glass, opening the freezer, getting the vodka (marked with a sharpie to say “Clarke” in giant letters) and pouring her a shot. Bellamy held it up in her direction.

 

“You drink this, I’ll fix the problem,” he said, his face was determined but she could see he’d spilled water from the water bottle so he was, of course, still a drunken mess.

 

Clarke was so taken with this nerd that she actually had butterflies. She was clearly a mess herself, but not a drunken one. Well, not yet. She walked over and took the shot glass, threw it back, and then looked at him for further direction. Bellamy smiled at her. He smiled so much more when he was drunk. He almost never smiled regularly. This was honestly why she always volunteered to get drunk with him after bad days. (Which amounted to about once a month.) The grins lit up his face and his eyes got all sparkling like he was a cartoon character or something. He was just so carefree. It was fucking precious. And hot. Also hot. He was always hot. That never really went away.

 

“Okay, I know there’s a spring form pan around here,” Bellamy said as he began hunting through the kitchen cupboards.

 

“I’m sorry, that sounds like a stupid made up language for a cheesy, fantasy TV show,” she said pouring herself another shot. She had to catch up to his level of drunkenness.

 

“Spring. Form. Pan. Those are all words in English, Clarke,” he threw over his shoulder. “I’ve even heard you use them in a sentence before.”

 

“But when you put them together, they definitely don’t make sense. How are we going to fix this problem?”

 

“Youtube,” he said finally finding what he needed and pulling out a funny looking round pan.

 

“This isn’t like the time I replaced the battery in my car key remote and we had to program it because Raven was busy. This is serious. Your sister wins competitions. With her baked goods.” She stopped talking to watch him search his pajama pants pockets for his phone. “I took your phone, remember? You were going to make the whole situation worse by sending Octavia more texts.”

 

“Right. Uh, laptop!” Bellamy ran out of the kitchen and slid down the hallway on his socks until he reached his bedroom door.

 

“Oh my god,” she muttered.

 

“Alright, this video has a billion hits and half that many thumbs up, this is definitely the video that is going to recreate an award winning cheesecake, do we have…” he trailed off as he walked back from the bedroom carrying his laptop, reading the screen as he went. Clarke could see the wheels in his head turning. “I need three eggs and a shit ton of cream cheese.”

 

Clarke opened the fridge while Bellamy poured a shot for himself, then poured her one.

 

“Hey, that’s my bottle, you already finished yours,” she whined. “And you need more cream cheese.”

 

“I’ll walk down to the Walgreens on the corner in a second.” He took the shot while she glared at him, then the doorbell rang. “That’s the curry. I’ll get it, you figure out how to turn on the Kitchen Aid.”

 

“Do you really not know how?” Clarke asked as he moved passed her. “Even _I_ know how to do that.”

 

They didn’t get very far. They had something that looked like pudding that burned in the middle and dripped out the sides of the pan. The kitchen was wrecked. And they’d watched roughly 16 youtube tutorials varying from _Easiest Cheesecake You’ll Ever Make_ to _Martha Stewart’s Pumpkin Mousse Cheesecake._ Every video had let them down.

 

The two of them could not have successfully made one of those fake Jello boxed cheesecakes, even sober, but drunk? Oh, they’d fucked it all up.

 

Now they were on the couch. Shoulder to shoulder, but Bellamy kept slinking down. He’d turn into her arm and nuzzle his nose against her skin and say something dumb and yeah she was drunk but this was unusual behavior from him, even drunk. His hand was on her thigh. He’d given her the remote by sliding it across her lap, she’d taken it like a baton in a race but his hand never left her leg. It stayed, a comfortable, probably friendly, possibly more than friendly, weight.

 

They fell asleep like that and a couple of times throughout the night Bellamy made some slurred comments about moving to the bedroom. Normally when they did this Clarke slept on the couch or really wherever she fell asleep: the floor, the overstuffed recliner, Octavia’s bed (she wasn’t ever home when they had these little get togethers. Clarke never thought that was weird. Octavia was busy and she and Clarke weren’t best friends or anything, plus she barely lived in the apartment. She was always at Lincoln’s.)

 

But she woke up in Bellamy’s bed. She was on her stomach, like she always slept, and Bellamy wasn’t touching her except their feet were close together, like that particular spot in the bed was warmest for toes. Clarke didn’t think much of it, even if it was a new outcome for their little bad day parties. Her clothes were on, her head was pounding, and she was very thirsty, but she reached for her phone and saw it was barely morning so she ignored the new sleeping spot, moved her head under the pillow she’d been resting on to drown out the slices of light coming through the window, and went back to sleep with Bellamy snoring lightly beside her.

 

When she woke next, her phone was ringing. She reached for it on the nightstand and hit the ignore button. Then Bellamy’s phone was vibrating next to hers and she went to do the same but it wasn’t a call. There were texts, tons of them. She squinted in the light hitting her face, fumbling for the button that would just turn the vibrating off. Clarke’s head was still pounding, like the last time she woke up, and she was starting to get mad that Bellamy wasn’t as annoyed with the vibrating phone.

 

She tried to turn the phone to silent, with no vibration (that vibration to her hangover addled self was like a helicopter six feet above her head.) But she couldn’t manage it. Clarke accidentally turned the sound on and several consecutive dings caused Bellamy to stir. She didn’t even feel bad about it. She was about to throw his phone at him so he could turn it off but an incoming text caught her eye.

 

_YOU CANT JUST SAY YOU FUCKED UP AND THEN NOT TEXT ME BACK ALL NIGHT. I ASSUME YOU AND CLARKE GRIFFIN ARE HAVING ‘OH GOD YOU FINALLY ADMITTED YOU ARE MADLY IN LOVE WITH ME SEX’...SORRY. YOU CALL IT MAKING LOVE TO HER BECAUSE YOU’RE A SAPPY MORON._

 

Clarke struggled to put the words together in her mind. She read over the message again before three more texts came in from Octavia. All of them shouting about professing his feelings for her.

Clarke remembered the text from yesterday. The reason she took his phone in the first place. He must have left out _how_ he fucked up and Octavia jumped to her own conclusions. But...were her conclusions how Bellamy felt? Had Bellamy told Octavia that he loved Clarke? Was she teasing him? What did any of this mean? Her heart started to pound more furiously than her head.

 

Bellamy sat up, reached around her, took the phone, and shoved it under the mattress in a swift motion that startled Clarke. He rolled over and went back to snoring. She on the other hand, could not.

 

She stayed in bed, stiff, awake, head aching, and throat dry. In addition to regular hangover haze, she couldn’t stop seeing the words of that text message. Did he love her? It was too hard to consider that question, her brain wasn’t working at full speed. She swallowed, trying to help the dry feeling but gave up.

 

Clarke got out of bed slowly, she didn’t even look back at Bellamy, too afraid of what seeing him like that, all comfortable in his bed, would do to her delicate mental state. So she tiptoed down the hall to get water.

 

She ended up cleaning the kitchen just to keep herself busy. She didn’t want to leave and if she stopped, her thoughts and feelings about his feelings and all the hypotheticals she could imagine would send her over the edge. Instead, she cleaned the mixer, the countertops, the floor (they’d spilled cheesecake attempt number 3 on the floor and half assed cleaning it up the night before.) She was ready to start cleaning the oven when she heard Bellamy go into the bathroom.

 

Feeling like she shouldn’t start cleaning the oven, she dug around in the cupboard above the sink for some aspirin and grabbed Bellamy a bottle of water from the fridge. He seemed to have a singular need for water so he didn’t even look around the kitchen before chugging the water. Clarke tried to act normal by picking up the aspirin and holding it out in her hand for him. He looked at her grateful, took the pills, and finished off the bottle of water.

 

“I ordered pizza. Should be here in a little bit,” she said, proud of herself for how evenly the words came out.

 

Bellamy, again, looked at her with such awe.  
  
“You’re the best. The actual best.” He looked around the kitchen. “Oh no, you didn’t have to clean this up, I was going to.”

 

“It’s okay,” Clarke said with a shrug. “I wanted to let you sleep.”

 

“Why didn’t you sleep?” he asked concerned and her heart fluttered.

 

Clarke picked at a chunk of something on the countertop that she’d missed while she was cleaning. She didn’t want to look at him.

 

“There was a phone debacle and I couldn’t sleep after that but I didn’t want to leave yet.”

 

Bellamy closed the distance between the two of them and hugged her. He pulled her into the crook of his neck and even though they’d spent last night eating curry, drinking, and attempting to replace Octavia’s cheesecake, he smelled good. _Oh shit, this is too nice_ , Clarke thought.   

 

They stood like that for longer than a regular hug. Clarke wasn’t going to pull away so she was waiting for him to, which he did, when his phone started to ding signaling more texts. Clarke scrunched up her face and pulled away from him. He dug in the pocket of his pajama pants to pull out the phone and blinked a couple of times, like he couldn’t read the texts. She knew the feeling.

 

Normally, Clarke might ask who it was, not because she was nosy, but because there were so many texts coming through. He made a face like he’d finally deciphered them and said, “Christ on a cracker.”

 

Clarke turned away, heading back to her task at the oven. She didn’t expect him to say anything to her. But she was hoping. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t know how this was going to go, even if she had played out at least 15 versions of the situation while scrubbing various parts of the kitchen.

 

“Octavia is quote ‘going to kick me in the bullfrogs’ if I don’t get back to her right now,” he said hesitantly.

 

“You should call her,” Clarke said not looking at him.

 

“And say what? I ate her cheesecake? She can’t enter an empty cake stand into the competition that’s in three hours.”

 

He sounded frazzled and Clarke felt bad. Despite spending time cleaning the kitchen, she had basically forgotten that the cheesecake thing was still a problem.

 

“Oh, I don’t know what you should say.” Clarke got out the spray for the oven. “You should probably tell her the truth. Maybe she’ll have time to bake a new one before the thing?”

 

Bellamy sighed behind her. He got another water from the fridge and muttered some swears under his breath.  
  
“You don’t have to clean the oven, Clarke, you already tried to help me clean up the mess, you certainly don’t need to keep literally cleaning up the mess.” He reached for her shoulder and she jumped at his touch. “Are you okay?”

 

Again, he was concerned and Clarke was touched. As she stood up and faced him she decided she had an idea and if it didn’t work out, oh well. She couldn’t just ignore what she’d seen.

 

“I saw the texts. I wasn’t snooping, I was just trying to turn your phone off because it was making so much noise this morning,” Clarke spit out quickly and Bellamy stared at her for a few seconds, eyes wide.

 

“Shit, I did fuck up.” Bellamy scrubbed at the back of his neck and Clarke cringed.

 

“I’m gonna go,” she said heading through the living room to the door.

 

She grabbed her purse on the way but Bellamy stopped her with a hand on her elbow.

 

“Wait, you didn’t let me finish.”

 

Clarke closed her eyes and wished the floor would swallow her up. Maybe if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her. She turned and faced him, opening her eyes slowly. She bit her lip and waited for him to talk but he just sputtered.

 

Like the idiot she was, she took fresh courage and started talking. “On a scale of bad days, tacos is a mild bad day, Indian is the worst day ever, pasta is somewhere in the middle.”

 

Bellamy tilted his head and she saw the corners of his lips twitch but he didn’t quite smile.

 

“There’s a scale?”

 

Clarke swallowed. “I just told you, I’ve been keeping track. I’m sure you have some dumb scale for when I have bad days and text you for a pity party.”

 

He licked his lips and she pretended she wasn’t completely focused on his mouth. But then he grinned.

 

“It's what you want to watch. A low level bad day is HGTV so you can shout at the idiots on _House Hunters_ . The worst day ever is ‘I know you hate it, Bellamy, but can we please watch old _MacGyver_ episodes?’” He took a step closer to her, but she took a step back. She didn’t know what was happening and now her back was against the door.

 

“You saw the text messages and you didn’t leave?” he asked, his tone shaky and his grin less sure.

 

Clarke looked up at him, her heart beating quickly and her skin itching to feel his. It was easier to touch him last night before this new information. She blew some hair out of her face and he gave a short laugh, moving his hand to push the strands along her hairline back. The touch had her shivering.

 

“I hoped,” she said softly, closing her eyes again as his hand settled along her jaw. “Maybe today would be a better day.”

 

He leaned in closer, resting his other arm on the door behind her.

 

“Could be, maybe,” he said before leaning in and kissing her.

 

It turns out that Octavia didn’t mind the loss of her prize cheesecake for the competition. When Bellamy came clean about it an hour later, she scoffed. “I’m just glad you told Clarke how you feel, I’m moving into Lincoln’s soon so get her on the fast track to move in with you so that you can have your little bad day parties whenever you want.”

 

Clarke took almost no convincing and by the time the next bad day rolled around, they watched _MacGyver,_ had Indian food, and then christened the kitchen counter because that just made sense.

 


End file.
